ge. The
idea in old Maisie's mind, that she and Phoebe were at least grown
girls, was an utter delusion. Mere six-year-olds at the best! The two
hands, that she remembered, were the hands of babies, and the incident
had happened over seventy years ago.

CHAPTER IX

A QUIET RAILWAY-STATION. ONE PASSENGER, AND A SHAKEDOWN AT MOORE'S.
THE CONVICT DAVERILL'S SEARCH FOR HIS MOTHER. GRANNY MARRABLE'S
READING OF "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." A MAN ON A STILE. SOME MEMORIES OF
NORFOLK ISLAND. A FINGER-JOINT. AN OATH ADMINISTERED BY AN AMATEUR,
WITHOUT A TESTAMENT. HOW DAVERILL SPOKE HIS NAME TWICE, AND THE
FIRST TIME UNDID THE SECOND. OFF THROUGH A HEDGE, FOLLOWED BY A
RESPECTABLE MAN. HOW OLD PHOEBE FOUND AN ENIGMA IN HER POCKET

In those days the great main lines of railway were liable to long
silences in the night. At the smaller stations particularly, after the
last train up and the last train down had passed without killing
somebody at a level crossing, or leaving you behind because you thought
it was sure to be late, and presumed upon that certainty, an almost holy
calm would reign for hours, and those really ill-used things, the
sleepers, seemed to have a chance at last. For after being baffled all
day by intermittent rushing fiends, and unwarrantable shuntings to and
fro, and droppings of sudden red-hot clinkers on their counterpanes, an
inexplicable click or two--apparently due to fidgety bull's-eyes
desirous of change--could scarcely be accounted a disturbance.

No station in the world was more primevally still than Grantley Thorpe,
after the down three-thirty express--the train that crossed the
three-fifteen that carried Gwen to London--had stopped, that the word of
Bradshaw should be fulfilled; had deposited the smallest conceivable
number of passengers, and wondered, perhaps, why remaindermen in the
carriages always put their heads out to ask what station this was. On
this particular occasion, Bradshaw scored, for the down train entered
the station three minutes after the up train departed, twelve minutes
behind. Then the little station turned off lights, locked up doors of
offices and lids of boxes, and went to bed. All but a signalman, in a
box on a pole.

There was one passenger, not a prepossessing one, who seemed morose. His
only luggage was a small handbag, and that was against him. It is not an
indictable offence to have no luggage, but if a referendum were taken
from